


Calendula Requiem

by flamingoprince



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Character Study, Familial Abuse, Graphic Depiction of Poison affects, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mostly Canon Compliant, Noodle Dragons, Poisoning, Pre-Canon, Slow Burn, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2018-10-16 06:14:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10565319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamingoprince/pseuds/flamingoprince
Summary: "An enriched soul can never be broken Hanzo, and I pray you will never be."A Hanzo character study exploring the life of Hanzo from his early beginnings to eventually finding redemption in the reformed Overwatch. Kind of my own personal interpretation of events and stuff. Mchanzo is endgame and is very important its just gonna take awhile to get there kids.Updates are sporadic, comments fuel me.





	1. Marigolds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is my first time writing anything for overwatch sooooo yeah i dunno  
> since i'm kinda writing this for myself, updates are gonna be infrequent probably - or be as often as i feel like writing.  
> i can't see anyone taking an interest in this but yeah haha;;;  
> i'm worried about writing them well but we'll see how this goesss.

Hanzo remembered a saying that his late Aunt Hanako once told him. She had eyes that shone like copper coins and dark hair that Hanzo always remembered that he liked to gnaw on as a child. Aunt Hanako often watched after him in his growing years, until he was old enough to begin his training to be the heir of the Shimada Clan: 10 years old. His mother was often traveling. Hanako was a homebody that his mother liked to call “weak.” She entrusted her most valuable son to her care despite this, and Hanzo never understood his mother’s words, nor the contempt she held for her sister. Hanako was a strong woman; a patient woman through and through. She never sneered or told Hanzo to  _ cease quietly _ during his tantrums. She always sat and listened to any babble his young mind had to offer. She practiced  _ ikebana _ \- the ancient Japanese art of flower arranging, and one long forgotten in favor of innovation and progress. She taught Hanzo the ways of nature, and the water. He remembered Aunt Hanako taking him down to the river every other Saturday for meditation. To help Hanzo clear his young mind, and to prepare him for the horrors that she knew he would soon face. The last Saturday Hanzo and his Aunt Hanako spent together was the Saturday of his tenth birthday, and the day he would be taken back to the main estate.

“It is your birthday Hanzo-chan. You should spend it doing something fun instead of wasting away with me.” The sad smile that Aunt Hanako offered him made Hanzo frown, and he promptly crawled into the lap of his auntie and grabbed her face in his tiny hands. 

“You are my favorite person to be with  _ oba-chan. _ There is nowhere else I would wish to be.” This made his Aunt smile, and she picked him up into her arms and started off towards their favorite spot - the garden. Aunt Hanako always loved being surrounded by flowers; she told Hanzo that it was soothing to the soul to be in the presence of such beautiful, fragile, elegant life. They often did their daily lessons there, and Hanzo loved the days where Aunt Hanako would get off track and talk to him about anything and everything. In his younger years, Hanzo never knew what anyone could do - what the world could’ve done - to deserve someone so loving and nurturing as Aunt Hanako. Even as an older man, Hanzo could still hardly fathom it.

The garden was traditional - everything at Aunt Hanako's house was traditional. A little pond filled with koi separated the  _ikebana_ flowers from the rest of the garden, and each morning, Hanako would rise with  _matcha_ and lay her feet in the water of the pond to allow the fish to nibble at her toes. Hanzo found her like that every morning after he got dressed and went looking for her, always finding her giggling with fish food for "her little darlings" smiling as they gave her bubbly kisses. The old stone gazebo that stood underneath the shade of the great weeping willow amid the clusters of assorted roses and hyacinth bushes housed a single, humble shrine. At night, Hanzo had seen Hanako lighting incense and praying slowly and solemnly, in Japanese too soft that he couldn't hear. When he'd asked her what she prayed for every night, she'd responded, "You, my little plum blossom." And pulled him into her arms. After supper in the evenings, as the late summer sun would dip lazily below the horizon, Hanzo and Hanako would collect fireflies around the brook that snaked through the garden and hid among the waterlilies and lotus flowers. Hanzo remembered falling off of the bridge many a time just to see how close he could get, and he remembered how his Aunt had laughed heartily at him, before helping him out of the water.

They sat on one of the benches closest to the double doors that led back into the house and the two of them began to talk. Hanzo allowed his Aunt to weave daffodils and calendulas -  _ marigolds _ \- into his hair as they chatted about everything and nothing, as they both knew that this would be the last time that they would see each other again. 

“Hanzo-chan, I want to tell you something. Before your father’s men come to pick you up.” Hanzo tried not to let the disappointment on his face show - for his auntie. “Yes,  _ oba-chan _ ?” 

“There will be many people that you will meet in your life. There will be many souls that will teach you many things - about life, and love, and purpose, and even about yourself, my little plum blossom.” Hanako’s hands dug into Hanzo’s sides, tickling him, and he let out a howl of laughter, trying to swat her nimble hands away. She pulled back after a moment and laid a delicate hand on his cheek.

“When you return home there are many things that I have taught you that your parents and the elders will try to take away from you. But if you remember anything that I have told you, I want you to remember this: the people in your life are there for a purpose; yet some will have more impact than others. You will know when you meet them, plum blossom, your heart will burn with such warmth, more that can be said of the butterflies of a small crush.” Hanako delicately began to pull the flowers out of his braided hair. The gates of her home were being opened, Hanzo could hear their creaks from here. Hanako must’ve heard them too. Yet she continued to speak. 

“Should their role become a fleeting memory, or a long lasting endeavour, I want you to learn what you can from those people, cherish them, enrich your soul with their delights and take pity in their sorrows. Share with them the parts of you that you wish no one could ever see, as those are the parts that these soulmates will cradle. Protect them Hanzo, just as fiercely that you protect yourself. For they are as much of your soul as you yourself are.” She put a hand over his chest.

 

“An enriched soul cannot be broken, Hanzo, and I pray that you never will be.”

 

The men arrived in the back garden, lead there by one of the maid servants the Shimada had offered to Hanako when they took her under their wing. They were much different than his Aunt Hanako; tall and foreboding, wearing pressed Western style suits with polished black dress shoes that they hadn’t bothered to remove upon entering the traditional house. Aunt Hanako stood, and folded her hands tightly in front of herself, nodding her head to the men and turning to Hanzo once more. 

“Remember what I said, plum blossom.” She allowed her tense stature to relax, only to run her hand across his cheek one last time. Hanzo felt his own eyes prickle when he saw the tears beginning to well his aunt’s eyes. “I will miss you very much little one.”

“Young Master, your father is expecting you.” One of the men stepped forward, between the two of them. Hanzo shrunk back, while his Aunt Hanako glided away with a subtle grace, bowing her head to the strangers. 

“I apologize for delaying your departure. I know it is too much to ask of you, but seeing as this is the last time I will be seeing my young nephew, may I request to give him a hug?” 

The men looked warily back and forth between one another, before the one who stepped between Hanako and Hanzo shrugged, stepping to the side once more. Hanako opened her arms and Hanzo threw himself into them, sobbing with abandon. 

 

“I’ll write to you every day  _ oba-chan _ !” He whimpered into her kimono. Hanako hugged him tighter, and Hanzo felt her tears fall into his hair. “Promise me you’ll write me back. Promise me!” 

“I promise Hanzo-chan. I promise.” 

“Time’s up.” The man said. Without much force, he put a hand on Hanako’s shoulder and drew the woman back, while another guard stepped forward and put a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder. 

“We must be going now Young master. Your father will be disappointed to learn that you have delayed us for something as meaningless as tears.”

 

Disappointment. Meaningless emotions. These were words that Hanzo would become very familiar with in his fast approaching nightmare.

 

“Y-yes?” Hanzo parroted. The men formed a circle around him, and began to lead the young Shimada away.

  
The only thing that told him of his Aunt’s murder was the return of his first letter to her a few days after he’d returned to the Shimada Estate from the post office, announcing that this person was recently deceased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tfw you make a character you adore only to kill them in the end  
> rip hanako you lovely lady you
> 
> next time we'll be talking about the spirit dragons so fun stuff.  
> also, yes, the title is 100% based on the kanon x kanon song calendula requiem.


	2. Dragons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After 600 months he appears from the shadows with another update for this.  
> Sorry for the delay, this chapter was causing me /serious/ trouble, but I like the way it /finally/ turned out.  
> I hope - if anyone is still reading - that you enjoy this update  
> and be warned there's some uh. not to spoil but there's some visions and poisoning in this chapter so  
> be warned.

The myth of the Dragon Clan and their bond with the Shimada was a legend that had been passed down for generations, and the story was one Hanzo was told when he was 11 years old. It’d been a year since his Aunt’s passing, a year since he had begun his training and a year since he was formally and permanently reunited with his brother, Genji.

He was just the same as Hanzo remembered. The two didn’t meet often for the past ten years but when they had, Genji was always the same. Small and curious at first, then energetic and loud mouthed with an undeniable interest in the world around him. Hanzo saw it in the sparkle of his brother’s deep brown eyes, he saw it in his wide grin that split his face open like a watermelon in the summertime, he saw it in the way he was already getting smile lines, simply from smiling far too much.

These days their meetings were more frequent, and in the absence of his Aunt, Hanzo was grateful for his brother’s smile. He vowed that this would be a smile he would protect. He wouldn’t let the clan take this one from him. 11 years old and he was already learning their cruelty - how pitiful for his shortly lived youth. If you asked him now, Hanzo would compare his youth to the fleeting pink of the cherry blossom trees that scattered across lively Hanamura; their soft rosy petals falling from them and littering the streets with every gentle breeze in the springtime. They only stayed pink a few weeks before the rest of spring gave way to new growth, but for those weeks Hanzo remembered everyone was happiest under their pink embrace. 

Hanzo, at least, was sure that he was the happiest in his youth in that fleeting pink springtime before he grew, and before the eventual decay. He and Genji would skip rocks across the lakes on the estate’s extensive property, and leap after frogs and dirty their hand woven kimonos as only children seemed to know how to do. The scolding never bothered Hanzo then, not with Genji’s hand gripped tightly in his own - not while watching his brother’s reddening face while trying to suppress his own guilty giggles.

The legend of the Dragon Clan at the precipice of summer is what marked the change; the change when Hanzo was no longer considered a child. The tattoo that adorned his skin and tied his soul to the ancient beasts of old felt like a gentle brushing of a caress despite the countless tales of the pain aching like needles.

“Many centuries ago, an ancestor of our Clan saved a young dragon from certain doom,” The elder, Shimada Eiji, began his story, pacing back and forth in measured steps across the Great Hall in the center of the Shimada Estate. Hanzo’s father sat to his left, and he to his right, showing his status as the upcoming heir to their proverbial, yet all too literal throne. His father always sat as straight as a board.  _ Posture, Hanzo _ . His mother would always snap when she saw him slouching. Her poignant glare across the room, at the head of women in the Shimada clan, made Hanzo bite his lip and straighten his back as best as he could, his knees already aching from the  _ seiza _ they were required to sit in.

“The young creature had fallen out of his nest in the sky, and plummeted to the unholy earth below. Our ancestor found it, weeping for it’s mother and injured from the fall, its wings too broken to fly.” He paused. “Our ancestor knew that humans were selfish, horrible creatures. Should such a magnificent beast such as this fall into their vile clutches, who knew what unspeakable things would be done to it. And so, our ancestor decided: he would take the dragon back up to the sky.” Elder Eiji surveyed the room with his keen, tenacious eye and Hanzo shivered when that single, swollen eye fixated on him. 

“The journey was grueling. Our ancestor battled against the elements and against the barbaric rouges that plagued the countryside, protecting that young dragon with his life. For our ancestor knew, that to be in the favor of a dragon was much more profitable than to be in the light of its wrath. When he finally reached the summit of the Great Mount Fuji, he held up the baby dragon to the sky and called out to the dragons to take back their young. Yet at first they did not come. For many days our ancestor waited on the mountainside, with no food, no water, and no way to keep himself warm. The young dragon had grown fond of him, and continually cried out for it’s brethren to save the man who helped him return home. By the time the dragons heard their young’s cries it was too late - our ancestor died. 

“Yet when the dragons realized what he had done for them, they revived him. They created an everlasting bond with him, and all who were descended of him: that when they were in danger or in times of need, they would be able to call upon the great dragons in spirit to aid them. They would be their lifelong partners and companions, and would heed to their callers every wish.” Elder Eiji stalked across the room once more until he was standing directly before Hanzo. Hanzo felt a shiver run down his small spine and he instinctively leaned away when the older man came closer. His breath reeked of age old incense and cigar smoke. 

 

“You, Young Master, are about to call forth those very beasts today.” He promised, with a wicked, gleaming grin. 

 

Hanzo gulped. 

 

The rest of the room erupted into light applause for the retelling, even his stone faced father, who would not meet Hanzo’s eyes where he looked up to him. His eyes were always cold to Hanzo; cold, emotionless and unwavering. Those were the eyes of a man who had dealt much death, and those were the eyes that Hanzo was supposed to covet. He too would have those eyes, if his family had anything to say about it. But more than anything, Hanzo remembered being frightened of those soulless eyes. He much preferred the eyes of Genji and Aunt Hanako, eyes full of sweetness and mirth.

Elder Eiji finally took a seat at the far end of the men’s side of the table, and at his father’s sharp look, Hanzo slowly rose from his seat and walked around the long table to stand in the middle of the room. He wiggled his bare feet against the smooth, almost lacquered texture of the tatami under his heels and stood as still and tall as he could bring himself to, unsure of what to expect.

It was a woman who rose this time, and Hanzo had to really prick at his brain to remember her name - Elder Izanami-Minori. The first of her name referred to the goddess Izanami; the one who invites - and invite she did, as she was the one who called the dragons from their kingdom in the sky to the earth down below. She was a raggedy old woman; her face was charred from an attempted suicide, the skin of her arms and face covered with scabs and faded scars from trying to claw at her own skin. Hanzo remembered wanting to take a step back away from this horrifying woman - creature, even - but the gaze of his father held him in place like steel vines coiled and anchoring his feet.

 

“Yes….” She breathed in a rough hiss. Her glass eye - at least, Hanzo remembered hoping it was made of glass - rolled back into her head, while her other focused on Hanzo. “This heir will do nicely. I can feel the dragons becoming restless underneath my skin…” She approached Hanzo even closer, and he was sure he could smell the stale vinegar on the tip of her tongue in the form of her moist breath across his forehead, making his hair stand on end. She studied him closely for a moment, then took his small face into her craggly, bony hands, tilting his face left, then right, before nodding firmly once more.

 

“Bring the drink.” She ordered.

 

A young girl approached from the hall that lead to the great banquet room, decked in a vibrant red  _ kimono  _ with golden flower and leaf designs adorning it and her cherry blossom pink  _ obi _ . She almost looked like a doll; a  _ kokeshi _ . In her hands she carried a tray, one that Hanzo recognized to be one of tea ceremony. But this tea ceremony would prove to be much different than the ones Aunt Hanako used to conduct every Saturdays in his old home. 

The  _ kokeshi _ approached him, and gestured him to kneel with the gentle bob of her head, and so Hanzo did once more, taking the seiza position across from her. She laid down the tray before him, she slowly picked up the piping tea kettle with a steady hand. She poured. It looked green - but not like the familiar dark green that he was used to when he drank  _ matcha _ or  _ sencha _ . It was a sickly green; a green that the body was hardwired to detest and avoid and one that Hanzo found himself afraid of. The liquid was thick and opaque, and bubbled along the surface like a marshy swamp, even after being poured. “ _ Drink _ .” The  _ kokeshi _ urged, then she said no more, resting back on her haunches. Her dark hair bobbed, then laid still, cut to perfection at her jawline, and Hanzo studied her for a moment before he glanced back at Elder Izanami-Minori.

The old woman too gestured towards the unsettling drink. “Drink.” She said. “It will bring you visions of the dragons. You will know if they shall deem you worthy.” The rest of the room was deadly silent, and Hanzo wondered what would happen if he said no; if he told them he didn’t want to drink it, and wanted to go play outside with Genji instead. Genji hadn’t been invited to this meeting, and some part of Hanzo knew it was because it wasn’t Genji’s turn yet. Having two proverbial heirs was something unheard of in their clan, but in the areas that Hanzo should fail, they hoped that Genji would prosper. But Hanzo wouldn’t let them touch his younger brother. He was going to protect him. Protect him.

“ _ Drink _ …” Izanami-Minori hissed again, and her voice was like an age-old slither through his mind. As if in a trance, Hanzo slowly reached forward and gripped the cup in his grasp, bringing it towards himself. It smelled putrid, sickeningly sweet. Even at his young age, Hanzo never preferred sugar in his tea, but he supposed that this was there to cover up the horrendous underbelly of smell that was slowly creeping and curling into his nostrils. Hanzo looked to his left. His father’s eyes were trained directly on him, but he said nothing, awaiting what would happen. When Hanzo turned right, his mother too said nothing; but she darted her eyes from his hand to the cup.

_ Hurry up Hanzo _ . He could hear it plainly in her voice.  _ You’re going to make a fool of us if you continue to sit there!  _

So Hanzo gripped the cup more firmly in his small hands, took in a deep breath, then took a sip of the beverage.

_ Disgusting _ . He remembered thinking. It tasted horrid.

 

“All of it.” Izanami-Minori urged, and again Hanzo lifted the cup to his lips, tilting his head back and swallowing it all down, suppressing his urge to gag.

 

It started first in his face. 

 

Hanzo felt it like a tingling. The kind of tingling that you get from sitting in one position for too long, or when you suddenly stretch a constricted muscle and trigger a Charlie horse. His nose was the first one to go, then his cheeks, his forehead, and around his eyes. The rest of his body slowly began to shake and he looked up in horror at the motionless and unblinking _ kokeshi _ . His vision began to blur. The girl stood and bowed before him, then exited. He tried to call out after her - to ask  _ what she’d done to him _ \- but his voice constricted in his throat, so hard that he could barely gasp for air. His legs - his arms - his feet… They were all burning; they felt like they were melting. Hanzo could hardly feel his body contort, could hardly feel his back twisting, arching and bending in unnatural ways, couldn’t hear the own gasping screams that were coming from his throat. 

 

The next thing he saw was the sky.

 

He felt like he was floating on air; that he was nothingness. There was no wind that rushed past his ears or his hair, but there was a certain unnatural stillness to the sky above him. Hanzo turned his head. He couldn’t see anything but the great barriers of the horizon beneath him, fading into pinks and blues, ruddy reds and heady indigos at the very deepest stripes, closer to what Hanzo guessed was the ground. He lie still in the air, waiting, but for what he couldn’t know.

_ Hello? _ His own voice echoed in his mind but no sound came from his lips, as though he suddenly no longer had the ability to speak.  _ Is anyone out there? _ He tried once more, but his lips never moved, and the silence was deafening.  _ Can anyone hear me? _

_ I can _ .

 

Hanzo was thrust down through the sky until his back hit something hard and steady. Snow flew around him from the impact, and latched to his clothes, his eyelashes and hair. He tried to rub his eyes but his body still refused to follow his commands. He could only continue to wordlessly look up at the slowly shifting sky above him. Night rolled slowly across the heavens, changing from a bright to a deep blue, so dark that Hanzo would swear that it turned black. Stars began to twinkle overhead, but stars so much more bright and magnificent than any of the ones he’d be able to spy at home, despite the estate being a little further away from the heart of Hanamura. Hanzo watched as the stars began to shift - they began to move, flutter, take form, into a form that Hanzo recognized.

“Dragon…” Hanzo was finally able to whisper, and his hand slowly reached up - the left, his dominant hand - and suddenly, a being like a wisp was before him: It was blue and ancient, with white streaks fraying through its mane, tail and whiskers. It was dark like the sea, and its eyes were piercing gold like comets. 

_ Young Shimada. You have been tested, and you have succeeded.  _ Hanzo heard the deep voice rumbling in his head. _ I am fire. I am radiance. I am your protector. Mamoru. No harm shall come to you, young Shimada, of great honor. _

The dragon bowed his head to him, and pushed into Hanzo’s open palm and he felt the dragon enter his body. It sent a surge of energy through him - so much to startle him from the world of the spirits and into the world he came from, fluttering his lashes. He saw Izanami-Minori looking down at his body, but his eyes slid shut before he could see the words that she was saying.

When he slipped under once more, Hanzo found himself deep in the ocean. Panic seeped into his bones, and he tried to move up towards the surface, but looking up there was no surface to be seen. It was dark here; Hanzo couldn’t see anything around him. He began to gasp, began to struggle, begging for air.

_ You will find your struggle fruitless, young one. _ This time, a feminine voice was like a soft whisper in his ear, much different than the deep male voice of the dragon who first confronted him. It wrapped him in a swaddle of comfort, in safety, soothing him so easily because it sounded so much like…

_ There is a spirit who cares very much for you here. And for her honor, she has come to watch over you.  _ The dragon who appeared before Hanzo this time was a slim, elegant dragon that glowed a soft, comforting baby blue. Her whiskers were sleek and curling, her mane soft and shining. Hanzo reached out to touch it as the slim dragon curled around him, shielding him from the cold ocean around them. A single jewel on the beast’s head began to glow in the darkness, and it followed the line of scale down it’s back all the way down to it’s tail. The light was dim, but bright enough for Hanzo to see glowing, familiar eyes that sent shock wriggling down his body. 

_ It is her blessing that fuels my existence. Young plum blossom, you have a first, but I am your second beast; Hisae, the eternal blessing from one whom you love. _

 

It was the second time that Hanzo woke fully. 

 

He was no longer in the banquet hall, but in the infirmary room. His mother and father were nowhere in sight, but some of the guards, as well as the  _ kokeshi _ , Izanami-Minori and Elder Eiji were all present. Hanzo blinked his eyes open slowly, trying to get adjusted to the lighting and being able to see once more. 

“He has awakened…” Izanami-Minori rasped. “The dragons have accepted him.”

“He has taken the longest of any true Shimada to win the dragons favor.” Elder Eiji scoffed. “Even those outside of the clan have had an easier time taking to the dragons. Are we sure he has what it takes to call himself an heir to his father’s legacy?”

“It is not the timing of the beasts… But their strength… That determines the fortitude of an heir.”

 

The woman gestured towards the bed that Hanzo lay upon, and as if on cue, Hanzo chose this moment to slowly sit up. The blankets covering him fell from his shoulders, as well as the cool cloth that had been placed upon his head, which dropped into his lap, revealing his chest to the room. On his right shoulder and arm, a twisting blue and gray tattoo with encircling dragons was found on his skin - a mark that startled Hanzo when he looked down at it. He could feel his two dragons encircling each other beneath his skin, pulsating with a power he wasn’t sure he should even have, or be able to control. Mamoru, beast of the heavens, and Hisae of the depths, created thunder and lightning and tumultuous clouds on the canvas of his arm and Hanzo studied his own flesh, wide eyed before he looked at the two elders who sat quietly now, observing him carefully.

“What does this mean?” He asked. The two looked at one another, then back towards Hanzo, who was getting a bit worried by their silence.

“Tell me!” He cried. “What does it mean?”

“Never,” Elder Eiji began. “Have I seen one with two spirits.”

“His father… Must hear about it… At once.”

“Where is Genji?” Hanzo asked next. “Can I see him?”

“You may see the Young Master in the morning, Young Master.” A guard on his right responded, his voice flat, yet even. “For now, your father has instructed you to get some rest.”

“I don’t want rest! I want to see Genji!” Or Aunt Hanako for that matter, but Hanzo knew the effort to resist was fruitless. The guards began to ignore his pleas once more, as they’d ignored him when he was drawn away from his Aunt, out to the awaiting car last year. And Hanzo knew them well enough by now to know that his father’s word was law. There was no breaking it. 

“I will return with the Lord. Until our return, keep the boy company. And you, wench.” He looked at the young girl who administered… Whatever put Hanzo into that haze, who was still sitting silently next to Izanami-Minori. “Bring Young Master Hanzo something to eat.” Izanami-Minori leaned down next to the girl and spoke a few words into her ear, and after a nod of understanding, the young girl stood, bowed; first to Elder Eiji, then to Hanzo himself, before exiting the room. 

“Do not worry young master....” Izanami-Minori promised, once she sent the guards away and they were alone. Hanzo didn’t like the way she looked him, nor the way she kept eyeballing the mark of his dragons on his arm. He could feel Mamoru stirring beneath his skin in an almost rage every time her one working eye trailed over them. “I will teach you… Everything you need to know… About summoning your… Dragons. But be warned…” She rasped, when Hanzo began to turn away. “... Such a path will not be easy… For you have two spirits… To contend with…” 


End file.
